For you sillies who don’t know, Chuck Wendig is a novelist, screenwriter, and game designer. I was lured in by one of his blog posts that my sister-in-law put up on Facebook. It was about raising small children and it was irreverently hilarious, unlike most parenting blogs, which are sentimental, boring, and preachy. Like a sucker, I subscribed to it, http://terribleminds.com/ramble/blog/. Well. He does write about funny kid stuff; but primarily he dishes out writerly wisdom for the Ambitiously Scribulous. That, that is the salt in the wound, the sriracha in the tear duct, the sand in the bikini bottoms. Let me tell you a bit about myself.
In college, I worked at a coffee shop, didn’t shave anything
or wear a bra, and thought that having children contributed to overpopulation
and was evil. Since then I have revised my personal philosophy and spawned
three ridiculous children who will almost certainly make the world a better
place. Well, the middle one might explode it. I caught her frenching an
electrical outlet the other day. And before you say anything, there was an outlet cover. She knows how to
pull those out. Anyway.
At this juncture in the space-time continuum, I am teaching
high school English online whilst mommying said three children. I would not
change it for the world; but it is pretty stressful. I work in say, four to ten
minute-long intervals, bookended by someone needing something. Crackers,
Neosporin, rescue from mortal peril. All day every day. I mean, I’m not going
to Shutter Island them or anything; but they drive me legit bonkers.
Like every English teacher worth her or his salt, I secretly
think I am a good writer. I would commit messy, badly-planned murder for a year
to just WRITE. I wanna be Annie Proulx, Douglas Adams, Chuck Palahniuk, Charlotte
Bronte, Kurt Vonnegut. But who doesn’t? I tell myself that all of the little
outlines hanging out in the “Writing” folder on my desktop could be fleshed out
into some really good stuff. I tell myself I could bang out a short novel in a
few months, if I had the chance to just write.
In the meantime, and because I fear failure, I tell no one about the
writing. Shhhh. Enter Chuck Wendig.
If you are serious about writing, you’ll make it happen, he says.
Saying you don’t have enough time is just an excuse, he says.
Get
to it and write, he says.
And that, that is why Chuck Wendig Fills Me With
Ire. Since I have subscribed to his devil-blog, his spirit has been wafting
about my house on Cupid wings, peppering me with delightfully crass anatomical
insults like Dick Tit and Ass Gnome. Actually, I came up with those, but he
would totally say them.
But the point is
he bothers me because I want to write but I am REALLY QUITE BUSY. I honestly
think that I don’t have the physical coordination to cram anything else into my
life. Right now, for example, I am gazing at what appears to be an underfed
spider monkey demonstrating the Pile Driver on an indifferent pony keg. My eyes
focus and I realize that it is just the middle child repeatedly body-slamming
the baby. Should probably attend to that.
To silence the Wendig-demon, I have decided to join the
league of d-bags who have a blog. I make no commitment to post on a regular
basis. I might not ever post again. Who knows?
My three year old pops her curly blonde head up next to my
computer.
“Whatcha doin’, Mommeee?”
I minimize the browser with the guilty start of a busted porn
connoisseur.
“What? Nothing. Drugs. Mommy’s doing drugs.”
So there you have it.
Bloggity blog.
I want to read anything you have.
ReplyDeleteParenting IS artistic expression.
You rock.
Why thank you!
DeleteI just laughed so hard I spit on my own chin.
ReplyDeleteI invented "shit tits" and "bitch dick." Use them today.